As is often true for me, my process is mirrored by the natural world, or possibly

that by paying close attention to natural cycles, I entrain with it. Looking around

me now, I see the brilliance of summer's fire being released in the turning leaves,

as if slowly bleeding out into the atmosphere.

In the garden, the architecture of decay is just as inspiring to me as the surprise

of spring flowers, revealing intricate forms and structures.

I almost never paint images of bright sunny days, a sky without clouds and mists

seems a less compelling story to tell. As people around me speak their dread of

the coming cold and the growing dark, I sink into my roots, release summer's fire

through my fingertips, and begin the composting of the year. Dreaming into the

dark, I tap the ancient well of blood-wisdom. In the spring, dreams will rise up

through my veins like the sweet sap of a sugar maple.

Learning to dance with the dark is not for the faint of heart, nor is it something we can avoid. In a culture determined to find a cure for aging and death, its no wonder we judge pain, illness and our dark internal journeys as wrong. There is another way - to know everything as a teacher. It is the path of least resistance, though embracing it is to know we must sit with the discomfort for as long as it takes. Deep within the singing stones and flowing through our veins is an archive of all the tools we could ever need to navigate life, placed there by each and every one of our ancestors. I imagine countless life stories coursing through my veins, there for me if I sit still and listen. If I lose my way with listening, there is a folk story to show me the way - a myth embedded with animal allies, elder wisdom and every imaginable challenge.

Driving home one day, I came across a turkey vulture eating roadkill. This great

composter will soon head south to warmer climates where her task of eating

death and disease will still be needed. Here, the freeze will keep us safe. Did

you know that the stomach acid of a vulture is strong enough to digest anthrax?

As she takes flight and disappears into the forest, I think of how little of her

story, or the importance of her daily meals to our health is known these days.

How might we move through life differently if we learned to sit with our

pain for as long as it takes? Might we find we can digest and transform it into

nourishment?

I leave you with two films I made recently to finally share some of my music

with you. I chose to upload "medium sized" movies as I wasn't sure how long

the best quality ones would take. So I'm not sure how it will go. The first track is

from my CD, Breath & Bone, the song is Into the Mystery. I used some of my

spirals for imagery, because the song and the spirals tell the same story. On

this track, I am playing with harmonic singing, only a little echo has been added

to the voice. My friend and producer, David Chandler, plays synthesizer. This

is an improvised piece which came out the way it is, not much was changed.

I have no idea how this will be, my first time using iMovie. This song, with just

voice and synthesizer is very different from what I thought I would be recording,

About Me

I dwell in a peaceful forest clearing amongst tall, sweeping hemlocks. A gathering of oaks encircles my home, and ravens cling to the shadows in the deep shade of the forest beyond. They gift me with squawking and rhythmic beats of wings and call to life the wild spirit within. The mosses, stones and trees, creature beings and spirits of the deep wood whisper, inspire and enchant. I remember and dream and reclaim myself as a sacred being in the web of all life, doing my best to live my life between the culture to which I belong, and the forest which is my true home.
I make things visual in watercolors, oils, ink, scratchboard, and clay/mixed-media. I sing ancient sounding songs (so I'm told) and tell stories from magical realms and the land of dreams.